Worthless
by trancexgemini
Summary: Charlie reflects on his life off the island, but more importantly, his life on it. Takes place after the episode Fire and Water from Season 2. Rating for Language. Slight implied romance, one sided.


**A/N** - 'kay, this is my first non-romance fic, so I hope it turned out okay. It's a one-shot about Charlie. I was sort of examining his character and his feelings. I think Charlie's a pretty underrated character, his past has so many aspects that unfortunately didn't get explored enough. I just wanted to show how he probably felt after the whole fiasco with Aaron in Season 2. Spoilers if you haven't watched the episode called "**Fire + Water**". There are slight mentions of CharliexClaire, but it's mainly one sided, and the feelings are rather bitter. (Not a big fan of the pairing) Anyways, now that that's over with, read and tell me what you think, please!

Disclaimer: I don't own Lost, and I certainly don't own the whole idea that got me going with this.

**Major** angst alert.

--

**Worthless**

He cried so much that he had began to choke on dry sobs. Choking on dry sobs just made him feel even worse, because that meant the pain had gotten so bad, he couldn't cry anymore. He hated himself a little more each time he began to scrunch his face in a look of misery, the look of someone about to release their pain to the world. He cried too often, so it seemed. He wasn't exactly a strong believer that men shouldn't cry, but he felt that he at least should allow himself _some_ sort of self-respect when he was alone; yet he couldn't even do that. No, instead he curled into a ball and lay on the scratchy blanket that rest atop a very nice and uncomfortable mound of sand. What did he do after that? He cried, or he choked on his own dry sobs. He never did anything else. He hardly fed himself. He wanted his drugs, but that had made everything bad in the first place, and he just wanted everything to be okay again.

Charlie Pace was tired of his life, and tired of being on the island. It didn't seem to matter, anyone he came close to, he seemed to drive away. It usually regarded his drugs, but he often came to wonder if it _was_ really the drugs. Perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps it was **him**. Charlie honestly came to feel as if he was just some sort of plague, floating around and infecting people. Of course, after infected, they would yell at him for infecting them in the first place, and then when they felt better; they'd simply leave him. Almost as if he had never been there at all. He wasn't surprised about Claire, really. Of course, he was so hurt that she could just leave him, after all the help he gave her with the baby, with Ethan..and yet she screamed at him. Siding with Locke was bad enough, but humiliating him as well. After all that, how she could just take Aaron and leave after everything he had done..it was hurtful, but it wasn't surprising. Everyone left him eventually.

The problem was that nobody would really _listen_ to him. Even when he was with Claire, he could tell she wasn't ever _really_ listening. She'd nod and smile while looking at the ocean, imagining something she'd rather be doing, someone she'd rather be talking to. That was the difference between the two. When Charlie looked at the ocean, all he saw was rebirth. He had hoped to have a new life on the island, but his withdrawals made sure to screw everything he ever wanted up.

If he wasn't filled with hate towards the brother who started this whole deadly scheme in the first place, he was filled with pity on him, on his pathetic life. He had made enough enemies off the island, and yet on the island; nobody seemed to like him once again. He would admit to anyone who would ask that he was in the wrong about the baby, he shouldn't have did what he did. He was emotional, he was horrified about Aaron getting hurt, he only wanted to help, and yet he knew now that he went about it in the wrong way. He would readily admit this and apologize, he would do anything needed just to have someone smile at him again. He would clean the whole bloody island if it meant that he could hold Aaron again, if it meant that he could lay next to Claire at night, stare at her peaceful face, and pray that she was dreaming about him.

That was the whole problem though, wasn't it? Charlie had realized this a little too late. When people became angry on the island, they were quiet. They kept secrets. They didn't _ask_ questions. They didn't ask why or how. They left everything up to Jack, and if Jack decided that he wouldn't confront Charlie about the happenings of earlier, than the rest of the island pretended it didn't happen. Except it did, and they all knew it. He knew they wouldn't forget, they would never forget. The way they'd all look at him, especially the women. They all saw him as a..kidnapper, maybe? Somehow Charlie felt that this was putting it nicely.

Regardless of what they saw when looking at him, they kept their thoughts inside. Everyone seemed to decide at a meeting that Charlie wasn't invited to that it was, indeed, best _not_ to ask. Well, Charlie _wanted_ them to ask. He wanted them to wonder, to probe, to be completely and utterly bewildered. He wanted them to know he was sorry, that he was...or he tried to be, a good person.

Unfortunately, nobody cared enough to ask, and that hurt more than Claire's smack to his face.

All Charlie had craved his whole life was acceptance. Acceptance from his brother, from a girl he seemed to love, from his father, from his mother, from the music industry, from the world, and now he wanted acceptance from this tiny little community that they had no choice but to call home.

He never recieved the blessed acceptance, and he was so scared that he never would.

So scared.

He yearned for it, he wanted them all to smile at him, to laugh with him.

Most of all, he wanted for her to look at him in the same way he looked at her. He wanted her to at least give a damn about him, so he would stop crying, stop choking on his _own _breath. If it wasn't her, then someone else. Someone nice.

Someone to look at him and tell him that he was worth something.

Someone to say that he wasn't a junkie or a babynapper.

Someone to hug him when he became weak.

Most of all, what he really wanted...

...was for her to smile at him in the morning and say: "Good Morning Charlie, I missed you."

It never came.

When Charlie laid on his scratchy blanket on his uncomfortable sand mound, he curled into a ball, hood over head, and sobbed.

There wasn't anyone laying with him, and there never would be.

Ever.

He was nothing.

**Worthless**.

--

**A/N** - I hope you guys liked it. I just want to make it clear that I don't dislike Charlie in ANY way at all, he's probably my favorite character. This was an examination of his feelings on _himself_, not MY feelings on his character. Just thought I'd make it clear. Thanks for reading!


End file.
